<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Renegade: A New Beginning by tf_decepticcn</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055264">Renegade: A New Beginning</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tf_decepticcn/pseuds/tf_decepticcn'>tf_decepticcn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Transformers - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Death, Childhood Friends, Cybertron, Cybertronian Civil War, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Possible Character Death, War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:27:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,924</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tf_decepticcn/pseuds/tf_decepticcn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>I originally wrote this as a self-indulgent project with lovable characters I projected on and proceeded to consider as comfort characters, but then I refined this first part as a full short-story for an English project. I originally came up with this story in the summer of 2019, and I've definitely improved a bit since then. So yeah, here's this and sorry if some parts are a bit cloudy; I tried my best to write this for anyone who has as little background as not even knowing who Optimus Prime is. Renegade, Trailblazer, and Crossfire are transformers characters I created. Enjoy. :P<br/>- Koda (author)</p><p>PS: everything in italics is Renegade narrating, everything in normal text is just normal narration.<br/>PPS: sorry it looks so long. I copy-and-pasted 10 pages worth of writing into one Ao3 page. :/</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Renegade: A New Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I originally wrote this as a self-indulgent project with lovable characters I projected on and proceeded to consider as comfort characters, but then I refined this first part as a full short-story for an English project. I originally came up with this story in the summer of 2019, and I've definitely improved a bit since then. So yeah, here's this and sorry if some parts are a bit cloudy; I tried my best to write this for anyone who has as little background as not even knowing who Optimus Prime is. Renegade, Trailblazer, and Crossfire are transformers characters I created. Enjoy. :P<br/>- Koda (author)</p><p>PS: everything in italics is Renegade narrating, everything in normal text is just normal narration.<br/>PPS: sorry it looks so long. I copy-and-pasted 10 pages worth of writing into one Ao3 page. :/</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>That day, I lost </span>
  </em>
  <span>both </span>
  <em>
    <span>of my heaviest anchors and drifted out into a raging sea of unknown terror. One of their souls remained unchanged, but it now lacked a physical vessel I could interact with. The other had a physical form, although battered, but its occupying soul wasn’t the one I’d gotten to know all those years ago. It had been corrupted by twisted self-interest: something I’d struggled with all my life, albeit significantly less decisive of which faction I fought the War of Cybertron for. Without any stimulus or rude awakening, I was unable to realize my inability to care about or reason with those who weren’t close to me. When said realization hit me, it wasn’t just a rude punch to the arm. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was a stinging gunshot to the chest. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Before the War, I worked at a weaponry dealership in Praxus, a notable technological hub on the planet Cybertron. I lived with my lifelong partner, Trailblazer, and made frequent visits to the bar across the street with my best pal, Crossfire. Trailblazer and I had known each other since birth and grew closer together with time. There’s a saying that goes something along the lines of, “You don’t realize the true importance of a person until you lose them.” Back then, I was criminally unaware of the strength Trailblazer had to maintain to keep me in line my whole life. He was able to constrain my unmatched rage, seemingly-endless spirals into panic, and obscene outbursts. And he obliterated </span>
  </em>
  <span>all </span>
  <em>
    <span>of it with his powerful words. incredible wisdom, and unbelievable sense of sarcastic humor. He did so without fail: every single time. Even so, I couldn’t see the full extent of his compassion for me through the fog of my own pride. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Not long after moving into an urban apartment complex near the center of Praxus, Renegade opened the door to his and Trailblazer’s residence and saw Trailblazer lounging next to the holographic entertainment screen. He had a bowl of small snacks next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how was work?” Trailblazer asked. Renegade sighed and slumped over the chair next to him, almost knocking the bowl of food over in the process. Trailblazer fumbled with it before dropping it on the floor at his feet. As he bent down to clean the mess, he looked to Renegade, who, still, had not said anything since he’d returned from the weaponry dealership. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to help me here or not?” Trailblazer asked rhetorically. Renegade put his head in his hands and sharply exhaled. He still said nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting, Renegade!” Trailblazer repeated, louder this time. When Renegade still did not respond, Trailblazer clenched his fingers into a fist and struck Renegade’s head. Moments after impact, Renegade uncovered his face, grabbed Trailblazer’s wrist, and abruptly twisted it clockwise. Trailblazer grunted before collapsing onto the floor, squinting his eyes and clenching his jaw. Renegade stood up and towered over him: his fiery eyes were filled with rage, and his teeth ground against each other. Despite seeming ready to end Trailblazer’s life as he knew it, he stepped back and gave his partner space to regain his bearings and stand up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lucky I didn’t go further,” Renegade threatened. Trailblazer said nothing as he stood up and stared into his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I? Lucky me,” he said with a mischievous smile. Renegade cracked a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You confident moron. I don’t know how or why I’ve never left you and lived by myself,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And yet you’ve stayed here your whole life. Now, why is that?” Trailblazer replied. Renegade looked away and pushed him backward. He walked to his stasis quarters and shut the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did I say that? If it was anyone but Trailblazer, they would’ve left me in a flash. Why hadn’t I realized that, yet?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Praxus’s weaponry dealer, although small in size when compared to those in bigger cities, attracted many customers who purchased armory such as sport cannons or short-distance blasters. Its most popular tandem of employees consisted of Renegade and his good friend Crossfire, both sharing a similar interest in weaponry. The dealer, which was somewhat of a second home to its most iconic duo, was established as they both searched for work years ago. Within weeks, if not days, of meeting each other, they immediately established a lasting friendship and, later, solidified a tradition of going to a local bar after their shifts. Trailblazer often joined them if he got out of his work early. Crossfire had only a few friends, but he always made close bonds with the friends he did have. Often, doing so was quite easy for him. He was close to Renegade’s age, so his young soul desired excitement and risk in almost everything he did. He was always honest and unapologetically himself with no fear, which earned him a good bit of affection from his customers. Despite his fond interest in weaponry, he did not like to resort to violence unless he felt obliged to, making him the perfect candidate for the Autobot Resistance’s ranks.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be completely transparent, for most of my life, I thought of Crossfire as the jokester between Trailblazer and I: the third-wheel, if you will. I obviously realized he was also my best friend, but I was still missing a </span>
  </em>
  <span>ton</span>
  <em>
    <span>. His infinite supply of comic relief, crazy-yet-effective advice, and jovial nature kept me on my toes even amidst the growing confusion and corruption in high places. Even before then, he’d always find a stupid way to get me up and running again when I was at my lowest. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Before</span>
  <em>
    <span> then. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As time passed, Cybertron only grew tenser. With archivist-turned-revolutionary Orion Pax gaining a loyal following and the possibility of him becoming the next leader of the Autobot Resistance being debated, Megatron, a savage, power-hungry gladiator, and his followers began to protest Orion’s appointment. In response, Orion Pax’s followers, though few, took to the streets to protest as well. Seldom did the two opposing groups end protests peacefully. All civilians who wanted nothing to do with the conflicts were never able to identify a single passing moment in which they were not afraid. No one dared to walk alone at night; even when walking in groups, almost everyone carried weapons, whether they were small firearms or knives or blunt objects. Some even got weaponry implants, such as guns under their arm plating or swords and cannons that could be disguised in their hands. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Weeks later, word that Orion Pax and Megatron had appeared in front of Cybertron’s supreme court spread like wildfire. At the end of the trial, the court decided it best that Orion Pax be named the next leader of the Autobots instead of Megatron. The former gladiator grew furious and immediately ordered his followers, now called Decepticons, to kill every Autobot until there were none left. Fights broke out in the streets at night; cannons and blasters could always be heard going off in the distance, and no one who walked outside was able to say that they did not see puddles of blood on the ground, whether they were old or newly-spilled.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was around that time when Trailblazer and I sided with the Autobot Resistance, when the Crossfire I’d always known began to fade, and when Trailblazer’s mediation and patience with Cybertron’s government started to make way for his colorful ideas of warfare. Crossfire gradually stopped answering any of my calls, and whenever we saw each other outside of work, he’d give me these icy stares that shocked me to silence: something that I’m still not comfortable with admitting to this day. This trend continued until he completely dropped off the grid: I never saw or heard anything about him for weeks, maybe months. I only assumed the worst: he’d died. As hard as it was to believe, I was forced to accept it as reality and was a little more thankful for Trailblazer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only a little bit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whenever I’d come home and tell Trailblazer about it, he’d try his best to give me the same sound advice as he always did, but I could sense a new haste and worry in his words, as if, for the first time in his life, he did not have a definite answer for me. And I didn’t blame him: if Cybertronian society as I knew it was drowning in one thing, it was most definitely uncertainty. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He and I were walking through the empty streets of Praxus, one day (in broad daylight, mind you), when we were jumped by a couple of Decepticon ruffians. At first, it was just a little fistfight: nothing unlike Trailblazer or I had ever seen before. We handled them with ease, kicking their fragile bodies about like a bunch of old cans. Through all the chaos, we didn’t realize they’d called for backup. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When a fleet of five Decepticons arrived, Crossfire was among them. He had their insignia messily carved into his chest. Even in comparison to thinking he’d died in a bloody street fight, seeing the Decepticons’ symbol etched into him like his permanent new identity was, somehow, even worse than if he died. It was like another twisted mind was controlling the body of the person I’d once called my best friend. He smirked at Trailblazer and I with a raspy snicker.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Odd seeing you two here. I’ve changed quite a bit, haven’t I?” Crossfire said. Trailblazer and I were taken aback by our old friend’s new demeanor, but didn’t lose focus on him or his two sidekicks on either side as we threw the first punches.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes after the fight began, Renegade dodged strikes from one of Crossfire’s accomplices while trying to kill the other. His hand transformed into a powerful blaster and blew a hole through one of their chests. Distracted, he received a powerful blow to the chin from the other. The Autobot flew backwards and landed beside the Decepticon he had just killed. Blood dripped out of his mouth. He wiped it with his hand and looked at his own fluids. The remaining Decepticon climbed on top of him and repeatedly bashed Renegade’s head against the ground. With a maneuver Renegade had invented, he was able to weaken the Decepticon, throw him off, and fire multiple shots through his head and throat. He was killed immediately. Renegade looked for Trailblazer. Then, a piercing yelp that would haunt him for the rest of his life came from his right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“AAAAIIIEEEEEE!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran toward the noise as fast as he could, but he was too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trailblazer’s dislocated leg was beside his head, and blood gushed out of the newly-made hole in his torso. Crossfire held his high-caliber ion cannon to Trailblazer’s chest. Renegade froze and looked into his red eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Join us, and he lives,” Crossfire said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Renegade, don’t do it! Let me die, let me -- </span>
  <em>
    <span>ack</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Crossfire put his foot in Trailblazer’s mouth, prohibiting his speech. Renegade still stood in one place. He couldn’t move: it was as if he was no longer in control of his own body. It felt as though something were holding him back from running for Trailblazer, something of incredible strength. All he could do was glance between Crossfire and Trailblazer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, I really thought you were braver than this, Renegade! I’ll say it again: decide now, or he dies!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trailblazer violently shook his head. Crossfire shoved his foot further into his opponent’s throat. Renegade still did not move. He looked at Trailblazer, silent, scared, and unable to do anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an evil smirk, Crossfire snickered, “Well, I don’t want to do this… but whatever you say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crossfire pulled the trigger of his weapon. The blast made a hole in Trailblazer’s chest, and blood spurted out of his mouth. Trailblazer did not scream, nor did he flinch. He only looked at Renegade with his flickering eyes. Crossfire laughed, took a final glance at a distraught Renegade, and fled the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renegade dropped to his knees and staggered to his dying partner. Tears started to cloud the Autobot’s vision and were soon flowing down his face as Trailblazer whispered his last words with his remaining breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stop here. Keep fighting. I’ll always… be… right… next to you...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Trailblazer’s grasp on Renegade’s hand loosened, a faint smile remaining on his dark face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trailblazer… no… this was my fault… I-I-I…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I’m so… </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I couldn’t save you. I-I…” Renegade bawled. He put his arms around his deceased comrade and lay his head on the hole in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trailblazer… </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, Autobot medics who were patrolling the area found Renegade and Trailblazer and immediately loaded them into separate ambulances. Trailblazer’s hollow body would be driven to a secluded storage facility and buried once the War was over, if it ever came to an end. The last time Renegade saw his partner of almost two million years was as his corpse was being loaded into the ambulance. It sped from the scene within seconds as Renegade slowly slipped into unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t remember anything that happened within the next several hours. I’m talking close to eight hours, here: I was out for a long time. Whether it was blood loss, internal damage, shock, or a horrific medley of the three, I don’t know, but I won’t elaborate too much else because--and I hate admitting this more than anything, right now-- I’ll start crying. All I’ll say is this: I’d hardly ever cried until then, and when I did, it was minimal. But this was the most I’ve cried to this day. Anyhow, I woke up in an underground Autobot medical base and was greeted by this young-sounding medic named First Aid. Looking back on that moment, I was a bit too harsh toward him: he was just doing his job and trying to lift my spirits a little bit, but I, apparently, wasn’t having any of it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the dark of night that evening, that medic came in and woke me up, telling me I had visitors in the medial base’s conference room. I thought, “For </span>
  </em>
  <span>me?</span>
  <em>
    <span> Since when? All the people who’d willingly come in to visit me are either gone or dead: this must be a mistake.” But, since I didn’t have the energy to say anything, I remained silent as First Aid and a bunch of other medics rolled my bed and accompanying instruments down the halls to the conference room. When we got there, two of the Autobots’ lieutenants opened the doors and glared down at me. They both talked at me, but one of them started barking at me, throwing curses between, practically, every word that came out of his big mouth. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was </span>
  </em>
  <span>before</span>
  <em>
    <span> Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobot Resistance, walked into the room. That lieutenant was put in his place: that’s for sure. If it was anybody else but Optimus who walked into the room, I’d smirk at the moron: but I didn’t. Because I hate Optimus Prime too much to smile in front of him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not complicated, really: he vouches for equality among everybody, no matter what social class or position you’re in. He makes peace his mantra for everything he does. But all the while, he calls himself the </span>
  </em>
  <span>leader</span>
  <em>
    <span> of the Autobot Resistance and literally has lieutenants whom he </span>
  </em>
  <span>orders </span>
  <em>
    <span>to wage battle against his enemies. On top of that, all of his forces are meticulously categorized into ranks, categories, and subgroups: all of which have to be </span>
  </em>
  <span>commanded</span>
  <em>
    <span> to fight. Why can’t they just fight how </span>
  </em>
  <span>they</span>
  <em>
    <span> please? If the Autobots vouch for peace, equality, and individuality among Cybertronians, why not start with their own forces? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Long story short, I hate Optimus Prime and those who are loyal to him because they’re hypocrites and because they don’t seem to want to understand my individualistic way of thinking about the War. I may be an Autobot, but I’m an independent one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Though I personally believe that anyone who calls themself an Autobot should be able to fight in any way they please as long as it isn’t acting against your own morals, the majority of my forces beg to disagree. Therefore, I am forced to say: since you appear to be a rogue at this time, you are under my command,” Optimus Prime declared. Renegade mustered the energy to tightly clench his fists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s completely absurd. I get to choose my faction and, therefore, who commands me. I’m not a Decepticon, so I have my rights to decide whether I follow your commands or become a neutral. Or, better yet, form a whole unit of my own, where </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets equal say: no one rules, no one follows. We end this war together as </span>
  <em>
    <span>equals</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Optimus Prime sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For that, we will have to go before the High Council; it is for them to decide. However, they will be inactive until the War ends. So until then, you are an Autobot under </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>command. That being said, I have something important to ask you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would that be…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have heard that you have a talent that most Autobots do not possess: when you are assigned to a mission, you carry it out with utmost determination and depth. Because of that, I have come to inform you that you are assigned to an off-planet mission. I’ve found a planet that is well-hidden from the Decepticons: if we secure it, we can use it as a base to regroup and prepare to keep fighting.” Renegade’s eyes widened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, no, you’ve got to be kidding me. Of all Autobots, under your command or not, why the hell would you pick </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? I’m half-sorry-half-not-sorry when I say this, but I’m not going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>willingly </span>
  </em>
  <span>risk my own life for some stupid mission of yours.” Optimus Prime stood up as tall as he could, as if he had an idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then, let us make a deal,” he declared. Renegade raised one of his eyebrows; Optimus Prime was never this stubborn about something unless it was absolutely necessary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of proposal…?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you accept this task, then the completion of this mission will be the last order you will ever receive from me. But if you decline, you will remain on Cybertron and serve strictly under my command for the rest of the war. If you decide to serve among my troops and fail to follow my leadership, you will serve the rest of the War in an Autobot penitentiary and be charged with obstruction of justice among multiple other penalties. I will ask you again, Renegade: which would you like to accept?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renegade was silent as all the medical officers, Optimus Prime, and his lousy lieutenants stared down at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Side note: I loved how this guy thought it was a good idea to ask someone he just met and is in a hospital bed depending on instruments to keep him alive to carry out one of the most important missions of the War. But I guess there was no changing that. Anyways, at that moment, I was forced to consider my options. If I were to go off-planet, there’d be a high possibility that I’d die, depending on how far out I get. On top of that, I didn’t imagine my golden-age to include being propelled into deep space on some mission for a hypocrite. But most importantly: since when did </span>
  </em>
  <span>I</span>
  <em>
    <span> follow orders? Even if I did end up staying on Cybertron and fighting for </span>
  </em>
  <span>Optimus Prime’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> Resistance, I know without a doubt I’d go into a downward spiral that’d end with death, either by someone else’s hands or my own. On top of all that, I’d go to prison for the rest of this War: and who knew when it was going to end. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who was I kidding? All of those things were valid reasons to go, but my own fear of death and failure held my tongue. But I would never admit it. Not even in my own mental monologues. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then again, I thought, how would that sync with my morals? I’d live the rest of my life knowing that I avoided taking on a mission that could be a big leap toward an Autobot victory just because I was scared and too prideful for my own good. I had the chance to become one of the greatest heroes Cybertron’s ever seen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then, he came to me: in an instant, Trailblazer’s dying words flashed across my mind. “Don’t stop here. Keep fighting.” I clenched my eyes shut and turned away from Optimus Prime, my heart falling into the pit of my stomach. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. I’ll take on your dumb mission.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Optimus Prime nodded. His lieutenants, on the other hand, looked to Renegade with anger when he said the word “dumb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In only four weeks, I was up and running again. After I was discharged, I went to my residence and packed everything I could before heading to Praxus’s nearest launchpad. The last thing I grabbed on my way out was a picture of Trailblazer and I; it was one of the oldest pictures I had of him, taken years and years ago. Now, residing in a corroding, worn frame, I tucked it into my trunk, gently closed the door to the eerily-empty apartment, and drove to the launchpad. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The loading period wasn’t all that exciting or tear-jerking, but I found myself using more and more strength to hold in my tears as the countdown grew closer to zero. When it got to twenty seconds to lift-off, Optimus Prime’s face appeared in front of me on a holographic screen. He repeated the Autobot Resistance’s mantra to me, expecting me to say it back to him with a smile and a salute. Instead, I raised one of my eyebrows and turned off the screen. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The rocket left the ground with a bang, violently trembling as its boosters propelled me into deep space. I twisted in my seat to take my last glance at Cybertron, orange explosions and colorful streaks of cannon-fires spanning across the planet. I watched my home grow farther and farther away from me until I couldn’t see it anymore. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only then did I turn back around to stare into the empty blackness of space, tears rolling down my stoic face. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I moved my limbs and opened my eyes all those hundreds of years later, I couldn’t believe I’d made it. In Earth years, it was 1994. Directly outside the capsule was beige, cracked ground with some prickly, green plants scattered across the horizon. I squinted as I looked up into the bright blue sky above me, in awe that I’d survived the journey to a whole other galaxy. Despite said shock, I opened the capsule and climbed out, vigilant for anyone who may be around me. When I saw no one, I stretched: there wasn’t a single joint in my body that didn’t pop. As my head was tilted to one side, I noticed a corroding road behind me. Indecisive of what I should do, I retrieved Trailblazer’s picture from my trunk and held it up to my face. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What would you do?” I asked the photo. I felt stupid talking to a picture, but it was all I had on this alien planet. After a few seconds, one of Trailblazer’s old mantras from when we were younger came to me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you see a road, literally or metaphorically, I’d say follow it. There may be something good at the end, there may be something bad: who knows for sure? You’ll never know if you don’t go see for yourself.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I collected my things from the shuttle and began walking through the scorching-hot desert in search of… something. I didn’t know what, but, as Trailblazer would say, I’d never know if I didn’t go see for myself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It had been hours since I embarked on my slow search for life, but when I found it, I faced several major complications. The first major structure I came across was what looked like a military base. It was so tiny, I almost found it amusing. Avoiding bright spotlights left and right, I saw a sign that read, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Red River Army Base: Bowie County, Texas, U.S.A. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t recall any </span>
  </em>
  <span>solid</span>
  <em>
    <span> reason why I’d try to enter such a protected area as an alien (literally), but I did so, nevertheless. I managed to step over one of the back gates and avoided being spotted by any of the tiny humans protecting the base. I quickly found a garage of several identical army vehicles, scanned one of them as discreetly as I could, and transformed into another one of the similar vehicles (“Humvees,” they were called). Quietly, I backed into the garage and switched my engine off as if nothing had happened. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had a dream about Trailblazer that night. He was yelling at me, blaming me for his death. He threw curses at me left and right, pushed me around like a rag doll, and, finally, threw me hard against a wall. I slumped over against it, completely at the mercy of this Trailblazer whom I’d never met and hoped I’d never meet again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dream ended, but I didn’t wake up. I was left to comprehend my own nightmare in endless darkness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, Renegade was woken up by the feeling of his own doors opening and his engine starting involuntarily. A couple of soldiers turned the key and drove the Humvee out of the garage. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I completely forgot the situation at hand the split second after I woke up. I wanted to transform back into my robotic form and run, knowing full-well that these tiny creatures couldn’t possibly catch me to bring me down. As strong as that desire was, my inner-heroine--a side that I wished I’d never had because it makes me seem like I’m pretending to be a fictional character from those children’s cartoons--tugged at my heart, begging me to keep on track. I almost didn’t listen, but then Trailblazer came to me again. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t stop here. Keep fighting.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Moving involuntarily--and, moreover, at someone else’s mercy--was the weirdest feeling to me, but not nearly as odd as succumbing to said control. I never remembered another moment in my life where I’d willingly succumbed to someone else’s control or let someone else use me, physically or otherwise. I suppose it was the fact that I was carrying out a mission that would decide the fate of the Autobot Resistance in the War for Cybertron. It was still more than that, though: I was doing it for </span>
  </em>
  <span>Optimus Prime</span>
  <em>
    <span>. Nevertheless, I was able to realize that this mission of mine was more than just something I’d been commanded to do. I </span>
  </em>
  <span>chose</span>
  <em>
    <span> it over remaining on Cybertron and fighting pointlessly alongside those oblivious followers of Optimus Prime. I still don’t know the full extent or reasoning behind my decision to take the mission, but I think it had something to do with repaying Trailblazer. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d taken his life, so I had to give him hope of an Autobot victory, in return. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And yes: I killed him. Maybe not at my own hands, but I had the power to stop it. And yet I just stood there: motionless, cowardly, and completely oblivious to the consequences of my brainless actions. Or, maybe not brainless: I’ve started to realize I was scared. As little as I want to admit it, I was. Anyhow, I subconsciously chose this mission in hopes of repaying my fallen partner: to show him how much I’m willing to do for him and our race, as we know it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe my arrogance did something right, for once. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour after the run rose, the human soldiers loaded Renegade and several other vehicles like him into a monumental grey cargo plane. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe not </span>
  </em>
  <span>completely</span>
  <em>
    <span> right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I spent a total of seven hours in that plane, my wheels strapped to the ground and a net draped over my vehicular form. It astonished me, how vigilant the humans are over their possessions: there wasn’t a single second, from the moment I was loaded into the plane to the moment I was parked in a garage on the island of Haiti, that I wasn’t being watched. There was always a human soldier guarding me, as if I were a valuable asset to whatever operation they were attempting to carry out. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even with the notion that I could easily outrun them, I stayed put for the next several days. I never moved. I never started my engine. I never transformed, spoke, grunted, or gave any indication that I was something (more like some</span>
  </em>
  <span>one</span>
  <em>
    <span>) other than a lifeless instrument at their disposal. It seemed twisted at the time, but something in me knew I was doing something that would warrant that good thing at the end of my road, whatever Trailblazer meant by that. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Days passed before I was moved again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>American soldiers rushed to the grimey garages at the crack of dawn as gunshots echoed behind them. Their base, which they thought was secret, had been discovered by Haitians who despised the U.S soldiers who “invaded” their land. They were armed with rifles, grenades, blunt objects, and blades. Although the army would be able to pick them off one-by-one at full force, only a fraction of the entire force had arrived at the base at the time. Without any direction or structure behind their defense, soldiers climbed into any Humvee they could find and sped to the front of the base. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There were bombs going off and guns being fired. Cries of anguish and grunts of agony came from nearby as soldiers with medical kits rushed to help their ailing comrades. I was horrified: it was the War for Cybertron all over again, but on a much smaller scale. But it was a gruesome battle, nevertheless. I tried not to think of Cybertron; I tried not to compare my planet’s fate to this small, insignificant battle, but it was almost impossible not to. The cannons, the gunfire, the screaming, the blood spatters across the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was all too relevant for me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldiers opened Renegade’s doors and climbed out with loaded weapons and heavy, bulletproof vests across their torsos. Meanwhile, Renegade stayed in place, closing his doors on his own while no one was watching. As the battle persisted, the Autobot waited. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was waiting for the opportunity to present itself. For there to be an opening with no humans in my way, “ally” or enemy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was going to make a break for it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At that moment, another ironic revelation came to me. I found myself trying to plan the best route to </span>
  </em>
  <span>drive</span>
  <em>
    <span> through the gates and speed away on my </span>
  </em>
  <span>wheels. </span>
  <em>
    <span>And this wasn’t on my own: this was the first, most appropriate strategy that came to my mind. I wondered why I suddenly cared about the humans, why I cared about my mission, and why I cared about revealing myself. If I was still on Cybertron before I got myself into this mess, I would’ve transformed into my robotic form and made a break for it on foot. But now, I suddenly found myself putting others who I didn’t care about or know before myself. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I saw an opening: a chance to find out what was at the end of the road.  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Amidst the turmoil around them, a group of soldiers heard a loud, gruff engine rumble behind them. A Hummer’s headlights turned on as it revved its engine to its maximum power. With each rev, it inched forward an inch or two. They saw no driver behind the wheel and, subsequently, stepped away from the vehicle’s path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, the vehicle jolted forward toward the barbed-wire fence surrounding the base. It accelerated with immense power, many of the Haitian aggressors leaping out of its way as quick as they could. Even so, the Hummer tore through the fence like paper, nearly missing several enemies by mere centimeters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, they’re getting away! Get the cars, get them! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t let them escape</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” one of the Haitians bellowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several dozen Haitians loaded ammunition, bombs, and blades into their muddy vehicles and raced after the rogue military vehicle. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were gaining on me, and quick. I pushed myself to my limit in a desperate attempt to increase my speed,, but my weight didn’t allow for it. Their cars surrounded me on either side, closing in on me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wasn’t going to transform. I couldn’t. The fate of so many Autobots like Trailblazer and myself depended on it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was over. All the sound around me faded into silence: the yelling, the explosions, the rapid gunfire, the skidding of my wheels, the crackle of flames engulfing my insides. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They threw knives at my tires, relentlessly shot at my sides, and threw bombs and lit torches in through my windows. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bright, orange explosions tore the Humvee apart, burning essential wires and instruments. Soon, the vehicle’s green paint was no longer visible under the thick layer of dark ash coating its metallic surfaces. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They gathered around my burning body and cheered. They poured alcohol and gasoline all over me. They threw their arms in the air and prayed to the heavens that this was a sign of their imminent victory. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I remained silent as I burned to a crisp. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I didn’t grunt. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t transform. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My insides corroded. My head went numb. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What was thought to be my first triumph had turned out to be my final one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Decades later, around 2015, there was a power surge in a Southwestern vehicular restoration bay. There were no humans at the facility, but wires plugged into the wall were hooked to the battery of a 1994 Humvee. The power surge had sent excess power into the wires, giving the Humvee’s corroding battery an extravagant surge of energy all at once before the building’s power went out. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t even open my eyes. I could only think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But not because I was suppressing it: I didn’t have the energy nor pain tolerance to do anything but think.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span> It was peaceful, though. I didn’t have to worry about my surroundings because I couldn’t sense any of them. I didn’t have to worry about revealing myself because I couldn’t move my body. I just </span>
  </em>
  <span>thought</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s been five years since I was “miraculously” revived. My physical condition has improved to the point where I can access my vital instruments such as location beacons and internal pressure gauges, but I still cannot move. Having only your own thoughts to accompany you through the darkness of your own head for that long can cause you to get lost in a void of uncertainty and doubt. That happened to me on several occasions while I was “dormant.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Since my timely arrival to this sphere of dirt, I’ve discovered my capacity to defy my own expectations and standards for myself. Although trust issues and fear of discovery still linger, hesitation was no longer a barrier for me when it came to acting on my newly-discovered morals. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could feel Trailblazer smiling at me from above. Although it was far from that full, toothy smile of his, it was a fair grin that I could feel in the warm rays of sunlight that beamed through the facility’s windows. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stop here. Keep fighting.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Feedback of any sort is appreciated. :D - Koda</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>